


Qualified

by Tierfal



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist
Genre: Banter, Crack, Gen, Humor, Trans Female Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-20
Updated: 2013-08-20
Packaged: 2017-12-24 02:24:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/934081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tierfal/pseuds/Tierfal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Orbin's interview does not exactly go according to plan.</p><p>[No spoilers.  And NO REGRETS.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Qualified

**Author's Note:**

  * For [unorthodoxCreativity](https://archiveofourown.org/users/unorthodoxCreativity/gifts).



> There were about four undamaged cells left in my brain, and [Kyri](http://i219.photobucket.com/albums/cc157/tierfal/kyriprompt_zps21e3f9f3.jpg) shredded three of them. ♥
> 
> (Here's [a post she made with gorgeous art](http://kyrianne.tumblr.com/post/59918622455/the-au-is-as-follows-roy-does-not-go-to) which helps explain the headcanon!)

This might just be the most important day of Corporal Orbin Crossley’s entire life. In all eighty-seven-hundred-odd days he has risen to, this may well be the _single_ most significant. In all the… lots… of minutes he’s breathed through, this one— _this_ one—

“We have a lot of highly-qualified applicants for this position,” Colonel Roy Mustang— _the_ Colonel Roy Mustang; _the_ Flame Alchemist; _the_ Hero of Ishval—says idly.

…which is a little odd, because the manila folder on his desk that he pulled Orbin’s application from actually looks like it’s practically empty, but Orbin’s not about to start to argue with the guy who will hopefully ( _hopefully_!) be his boss.

“Why don’t you tell me what sets you apart?”

Orbin swallows. _This could very well be the most important thirty seconds of_ — “My, um. My passion, sir. For… going above and beyond the call of duty. And my dedication to the cause no matter the conseque—”

“Jesus _fuck_ , what’s a girl gotta do to get a report read around here?”

Orbin has never considered his skin to be particularly loosely-attached to his body, but he very nearly leaps right out of it at the piercing query—and then he jumps again when the door to Colonel Mustang’s office slams open and bangs against the wall.

“Sister,” a seven-foot-tall suit of armor says resignedly, “this is very impolite.”

“Fuck that noise,” a tiny blonde dynamo with jaw-droppingly nice cleavage and eyes like shards of amber says. She strides directly across the office, one gloved fist clutching a roll of papers, and her leather miniskirt and high-gartered black stockings leave _very_ little to the imagination—

Except… maybe they do leave a _bit_ , because there’s a gleam of silver at the top edge of the right one, and that ankle fits into her boot just a _little_ differently than the left.

Orbin realizes that he’s staring and tries to look at anything except the interloper’s swinging yellow hair. In his hasty survey of everything else in the room, he discovers that Lieutenant Havoc is mesmerized by the rather revealing cut of the young woman’s top, whereas Colonel Mustang is extremely interested in the bottom hem of her skirt.

“I’m ladylike as fuck, and you know it, Al,” the blonde says, slapping an untidy stack of paper down on Colonel Mustang’s desk. She meets his eye with a wolfish grin. “Lookie here, it’s even on time! Are you gonna give me crap for it, or not?”

Colonel Mustang steeples his fingers and blinks at her serenely. “It seems remarkably counterproductive to criticize you on the rare occasion that you actually do as I ask.”

The blonde smirks. Her lips are shiny. And pink. And _shiny_. “You’re kinda cute when you think you’ve got me figured out, Mustang.”

“Now, now,” Colonel Mustang says. “I should hate to have to write you up for fraternization.”

“I ain’t your frater,” the blonde says. She raps her knuckles on top of the file. “Enjoy your bedtime story. You know where to find me when you’ve got something worth my time. Don’t get into too much trouble meanwhile, you get me?”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Mustang says.

“I don’t even wanna know what you dream,” the blonde says. “Oi, Havoc—eyes up here.”

“Sorry, sir,” Lieutenant Havoc says, and something in Orbin’s brain breaks _permanently_.

The giant suit of armor turns to Havoc. “Would you mind terribly rolling your tongue back up while you’re at it, Lieutenant?”

First Lieutenant Jean Havoc, who can shoot the corner off a playing card at fifty yards, goes bright red and tries to shrink down into his chair. “Sorry, Al.”

“You’re dismissed, Fullmetal,” Colonel Mustang calls as the blonde swaggers out the door. “Just in case you were wondering.”

“Here’s a dream for you,” the blonde says. “Dream I saluted.”

“My subconscious isn’t nearly so outlandish,” Mustang says.

The blonde shoots him a dagger’s-edge grin over one shoulder, and then her huge boots go clomping all the way out to the hall again.

The suit of armor heaves a faintly embarrassed sigh and then gingerly draws the door shut again.

There is silence for a long moment, but for the arrhythmic _clink_ s of Lieutenant Havoc fidgeting with his lighter.

“Forgive me, sir,” Orbin says, “but what in seven _hells_ was that?”

“That,” Colonel Mustang says, leaning back in his chair, “was Major Trisha Elric.”

“The bane of our existence,” Havoc says, sounding pained.

The corner of Colonel Mustang’s mouth twitches upward. “Quite.”


End file.
